


Smote Me Any Time

by TrishaCollins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam is such a Winchester, Brotherly Love, Gen, Team Get Adam Off The Bus, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, no really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 18:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8112124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrishaCollins/pseuds/TrishaCollins
Summary: Angels get really creative when they're bored. Adam learns to deal with it in a very Winchester way. The cage is mostly just the icing on the cake.





	

He had started categorizing the type of death by the level of pain it caused. Sam had called him morbid, but even he could agree that being flayed alive probably hurt the worst, and that a spinal cord being ripped out objectively was one of the least painful - though admittedly more creative - ways Lucifer and Michael had thus far used to kill him.

Sam still called him morbid every time he brought it up.

That was fine, they were in hell, after all. If he couldn't be a little bit morbid then what was the point?

It helped him detach from the pain his own body was experiencing.

If he thought "Breaking fingers hurts more than it should" then he was too involved with it. If he rated it on a scale, objectively sliding it between breaking a rib and an arm bone, it made it harder to connect the experience.

Lucifer loathed his game, and Michael made a game of trying to break his focus on it.

It never lasted, at best "death" was a temporary reprieve, like a brief nap. But as soon as he woke, he was right back in the pit, staring up at his tormentors as they considered which part of him to try to destroy next.

He swore Michael was learning from Lucifer, the way a child watched a parent.

He had almost expected that Michael and Lucifer would hate each other so much that the two humans trapped in the cage would not draw any interest. And they did. They could sometimes go for days without paying him or Sam any attention, arguing about Eden or Sodom or things that he remembered hearing about at service when he was younger like they had been yesterday. For the angels, it might have been like yesterday.

He hadn't asked, he knew better. Sam might get into fights with Lucifer, or even fights with Michael on really bad days, but he was too much of a coward.

But then someone - usually Michael - would snarl something about "Father's favorites" and it was open season on the two unfortunate mortals trapped in this place.

Michael put a little more weight on his foot, wearing his father's younger face today. Sam hated it when Michael looked like their father, but somehow it always made him feel more like snarling.

 _This is your fault_. He had shouted once, and Michael had paused in carefully extracting his internal organs like a grotesque game of Operation to stare at him.

He drew a sharp breath when his rib cracked, jolted out of the memory harshly enough that he spoke. "You said yes."

Michael gave him another, briefly puzzled look. "What?"

He coughed, tasting copper, and struggled to sit up properly. Michael shoved him back down, scowling. "I said yes to what?"

He tried to look for Sam, but Lucifer had dragged him into the shadows - and to be honest, he didn't want to see Sam tortured any more.

"You said yes." He whispered, dazed and finding some shape in the shadows of the cell that he swore took the shape of a woman, though as soon as he blinked she was gone, and there was nothing there.

"To _what_?" Michael snarled, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and dragging him to his feet.

"To everything." Some kernel of pride flared within him. "Real yes man, everything you were told to do, you did it. I wonder why we're God's favorites?"

Michael smote him. Weird word, smote. One of those Old Testament words he had never really understood. But he knew what being smote felt like, and it honestly was so quick that he didn't have much time to feel pain.

Rank 0, really. He should tell Michael that. Smote me any day, Michael, it's like getting tucked in for a nap.

Sam called him crazy when he told him later, but he was smiling. And he had rubbed his shoulders until some of the weird knots that were becoming part of his spine had eased.

So he guessed being smote had its benefits.

Plus one, team humanity?


End file.
